


All That We See Or Seem

by soundingsea



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: Multi, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-04-04
Updated: 2004-04-04
Packaged: 2017-10-07 12:39:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soundingsea/pseuds/soundingsea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Before he knew it, she was beside him, trailing her varnished fingernails over the skin of his neck. "The moon tells me what she sees -- trampled grass and your blood running out to feed the worms."</p>
            </blockquote>





	All That We See Or Seem

**Author's Note:**

  * For [girlwithjournal](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=girlwithjournal).



> Pinch hit for the Druficathon. Spoilers: through AtS 5.13 "Why We Fight". Thanks to magarettt for the fabulous beta and gentle_thorns for keeping it Brit. Written pre-"Origin".

Even being a hostage to Angel's latest crazed vampire progeny didn't mean it was time for Wesley to go home from the office. The paperwork didn't understand how much time had been lost to standing on a wobbly chair with wire cutting into his throat. A most unpleasant experience, that, made worse by an odd feeling of deja vu.

But fortunately they'd all come out of the experience relatively unscathed. Angel seemed to have headed up to his flat for the night, alone as usual. Wesley stifled the small quiet voice that told him that at least Spike hadn't been going upstairs with Angel, despite the energy between them.

Wesley briefly entertained the thought of following Angel up there, but there was no point to harbouring such notions, and there was research to be done. He wearily considered the volume at hand, which was currently displaying the usual jumble of prophecies and portents.

When his office door opened he glanced up, welcoming the distraction. He recognized the rail-thin dark-haired woman immediately, though it had been years since the Sunnydale days when he had pored over the Diaries and Chronicles in search of information about Angel's past.

Her voice was different than he had imagined, more childish and petulant. "This building is different, but the air is the same. Those who were outside are in, but their insides are gone." She trilled and twirled into the room, leaving the door ajar.

"Drusilla." Wesley reached into his desk drawer where once he would have kept a cross or a stake. He encountered only the cool metal of his handgun. He fumbled in the drawer. Surely he had the most basic of defenses in there somewhere. But she was getting closer and no other choice was manifesting itself, so the handgun it must needs be.

Drusilla swayed as she advanced, gazing into Wesley's eyes. "The stars whispered to me when the son fell."

Wesley raised an eyebrow along with a steady hand as he took aim. He might not be able to kill her, but he could incapacitate rather nicely. "I recognize that you haven't seen it in well over a century, but I can assure you the sun is still where it belongs."

"Our family is broken all into pieces, and it's all the fault of the Angel-beast." Her face twisted in a grimace at Angel's name. "Once again the father has killed the son."

Her predatory approach and unblinking gaze should have made Wesley shudder, but he was distracted by the resonance between her words and those spoken by Angel some months back. Syllables dropped like pebbles, causing a ripple in his mind which smoothed itself maddeningly when Wesley turned his attention towards it.

"Yes, the implication seemed to be that Angel was responsible for that unfortunate young man's vampiric condition, as he is for yours." Drusilla's eyes flashed a fleeting emotion Wesley couldn't quite make out, but it seemed some old wounds were close to the surface. Good. He could use that. "But what do you mean, 'once again'?"

"You already know. See with your heart, Watcher. Lies cannot hide the scars."

Before he knew it, she was beside him, trailing her varnished fingernails over the skin of his neck. "The moon tells me what she sees -- trampled grass and your blood running out to feed the worms."

Wesley felt a rush of disorientation. With a backdrop of incomprehensible flashes, he was jolted by the pain of his throat being slit. The emotional turmoil and shattered regrets of the last few years seemed to re-form into new and more menacing shapes, grounded now, more real than before.

"Walk with me, Watcher. You'll see with unclouded eyes." She raised her hand above her head, offering it archly as if inviting him to dance, never taking her gaze off his.

His words tumbled out of their own accord. "I've got a better idea. Why walk when we could ride?"

An elevator whisked them to the motor pool and Wesley started his motorcycle, zooming up and out of the garage with Drusilla holding on behind, wind whipping her hair all about.

This wasn't how Wesley had expected to end the evening. Usually he'd ride home to an empty flat with fading echoes of Lilah everywhere and a closet he never opened. But instead he was heading for parts unknown, guided by a mad vampire. He wasn't sure when, exactly, this became a good idea.

She gave him direction by languid brushes of her hand against his face, guiding him for miles until they ended up outside a collegiate coffee shop. Peering into the window and through a haze of smoke, Wesley followed Drusilla's outstretched finger to a brown-haired boy speaking with animated excitement with some friends.

Wesley felt a heart-stabbing pang of recognition. "That boy? He's not dead." And he looks so happy, he added silently, much happier now than ever he did in those days of apocalypse and mayhem. Those days marked Wesley's isolation from Angel's affections after failing him as surely as he had failed his father. Wesley knew with a sinking feeling, suddenly, why Angel could never trust him enough to let down his guard.

Drusilla smiled. "You're right. Not nearly dead enough, not like the other one. Angel needs this son, child of his heart, to walk up to him, walking dead." Her face transformed into a visage of monstrous beauty.

Alarmed, Wesley whirled her about, pinning her against the motorcycle. Drusilla tensed and then laughed, raising her hands to stroke his leather jacket and offering him no resistance.

"Spare the boy." Wesley swallowed, feeling a sudden tightness in his throat where the sinews and tendons had never healed properly. "Take me instead." Fathers killed sons and sons fathers; that was the way of this world. But Wesley couldn't stand by and let Angel's son, Angel himself, once again pay the price of his weakness, his failure.

Drusilla tilted her head and considered. "You want to call him Daddy, don't you? And he'll never let you." She swayed in his arms to an inaudible melody and then abruptly leaned in to whisper breathily in his ear. "You must be most vexed. Well, Granddaddy will do."

She bit into his throat over the scar that hadn't been there that morning when he shaved. Wesley imagined the scar must be fading to white now against the shameful blush that crept over him when he considered Drusilla's insight into his feelings about Angel. How did she see so much?

His distress was overcome by the lightheaded rush as his knees buckled and he fell beside the bike. To an observer they must have seemed like a couple in the grip of passion, young and innocent and certainly not engaged in anything as deadly as this dance. A few swallows, and he was undone.

When he woke, everything was clear for Wes; hesitancy and doubt had burned away. He shrugged off the handfuls of grass mixed with dirt that Drusilla was tossing on him as he lay in the deep shadows under a massive oak. He saw her gleaming in the pale light of pre-dawn.

He was hungry; he was aroused; Drusilla was there. Good show. He reached for her and she moved away, flirting, enticing him towards the doors of some nearby low-rent motels. She wrenched one open with a quick, delicate flick of her wrist and moved sinuously in the doorway.

"Come to mummy, my dear heart," she said, wriggling her hips. "We've much mischief to do, and treats too."

Said treats were endeavouring to cover themselves, young man cursing, young woman diving under sheets. Wesley took the initiative, moving like liquid, pulling the man out of the bed and affording his shapely form a moment of appreciation before tearing out his throat.

The blood was hot, and Wesley felt super-attenuated as he drained the body. He felt more than saw Dru's presence in the room, elemental and whole as she replenished herself on the sobbing girl, who was weakened but clearly still conscious. Wesley dropped the dead man to the floor and joined Drusilla and the girl on the bed.

"Playing with your food? Most unwise. She'll raise an alarm." Wesley took the girl by the throat and squeezed with one hand, crushing until the unpleasant noise stopped.

Drusilla keened but gazed through her lashes at Wesley with a look he recognized. He removed his belt and bound her wrists above her head to the bed, and then picked up some lacy unmentionable discarded by the dead girl and stuffed it in Drusilla's mouth.

"Bad girl. Ought to be punished." And he unlaced her old-fashioned gown, twisting a nipple cruelly and smiling at her muffled gasp.

This was like the rough times with Lilah, the fucking with no quarter asked or given. But he hadn't had such sharp teeth with which to bite her. Pity -- she probably would have liked it.

He flashed on the image of Fred as he had found her in his office, bound and gagged, as he fucked a similarly appointed Drusilla. Possibly he might have put up a better fight against that Lawson bloke if he hadn't been most distracted by Fred's delicious, helpless condition. Have to see if she'd oblige him with a repeat.

Spent for the moment, Wesley's thoughts turned to what had started all of this. "Did you leave the boy alone?"

Connor -- the name came to Wesley. Well, that had been the name of the sweet-smelling baby and the shattered teen who moved too like his father for comfort. Who knew what the kid was called in this new life he'd been inexplicably given.

Wesley glanced at the uncharacteristically silent Drusilla and smiled at the sight before removing the lacy scrap of fabric so she could answer. She made a face and licked her lips before replying, "Haven't touched a hair on his head. He belongs to your other dead lover."

Wesley flashed to Angel for a moment before realizing Drusilla must mean Lilah, not that that made any more sense, really. Still, that was information to file away for future reference. Drusilla was crazy, not stupid.

Wesley wondered if Angel knew what had become of his son. Then he realized in a blinding flash of anger -- of course Angel knew. This was the root cause of the Wolfram &amp; Hart deal. The rest of them were the price.

Wesley realized he didn't care what happened to Connor anymore, didn't care whether Angel was hurt, but the thought of Angel still quickened his breath. He remembered, suddenly, the manic energy, the roving eyes, Angel's soulless demeanor and suggestive glances directed Wesley's way.

"So, Drusilla, how do you feel about getting Daddy back just as you remember him?" Wesley rose and paced the length of the room, glancing over at the still-bound Drusilla, who nodded with glee at his words. "When dusk falls, we'll be paying Angel a little visit."

**Author's Note:**

> Challenge: Dru/Wesley, up to NC-17, dark but not relentlessly so, Dru turning Wes.


End file.
